


Terminus

by Skyuni123



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Coercion, Desert, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Empathy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Vale but not Night Vale, Post-Apocalypse, Science Boyfriends, Science Experiments, Trains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: Night Vale is a town of exiles, of freaks, of rejects, of people marred by a War they didn't fight.It's also the town that Carlos the scientist has to study.This isn't the Night Vale you know and love.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my story 'Trains' that i wrote a couple of chapters of in 2014 and it was shit so i rewrote it.

**** Tourists gasp as the walls of the dome give way to the dominant, bright light of the sun. Stood back from the outer wall of the train - he’s never liked heights, and never will - Carlos the Scientist observes them with a practised eye. 

 

The train is pulling out of the station. There’s no wonder the tourists are excited. These trips are a new thing, after all. 

 

The tourists ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over the lava-wastes of June, the burnt town of Douthy and the completely irradiated South Mark. They've seen all the pictures, of course, who hasn't, but to see it, to see the sheer intensity of it all... Well, this is a very good day indeed.

 

Carlos wonders if they really care about what happened in the ruins outside. Somehow, he thinks they don’t. Those who can afford to gawp at devastation have had no experience of it. Why would they have? When the War broke out, when nukes were flying thick and fast across their now-barren Earth, they had been safe inside their domes. They could  _ afford  _ to be safe inside their domes.

 

Anyone who hadn’t been tucked up inside during the War? Well, they’ve been taken to a very special place, indeed. 

 

Commuters who travel this train route to get to work aren’t fazed. They’ve seen it all before. Burnt-out wastes and endless unforgivable desert are less of an attraction on a road frequently travelled. 

 

Carlos hasn’t done this journey before, but he’s seen his fair share of devastation. Somehow, he thinks he can live without seeing any more - at least, on this train trip. 

 

“Next station, Maymourne.” The automated announcer, this one with a clean, feminine voice, interrupts his musing. 

 

Carlos glances at his watch. Maymourne isn’t his stop. It’s 8.56am and they’re right on time. Good. He allows a short smile to grace his features and wonders when he got so bitter. Although he’d be hard-pressed to admit it, he’s anxious. He’s never been this far out before, and he’s heard stories of trains going missing on the tracks and  _ things  _ attacking them. 

 

He’s even more anxious about Night Vale. He’s screwed if any of his colleagues at the Solway Institute find out about his fears, but the place makes him nervous. The ‘exile town’ of Night Vale. The place where War veterans, irradiated citizens, and society’s  _ rejects  _ are dumped. 

The Government, scattered after the end of the War, had decided it was easier. They could throw anyone they didn’t want to deal with in one place, and not have to cope with the fallout. 

 

Night Vale is secret, lest the citizens of the domes kick up a fuss. Carlos is fairly sure that they wouldn’t care even if they knew, but then again, he’s not always been the best judge of character. 

 

He supposes he’s just bitter.

He doesn’t like the Government, and Night Vale isn’t the only reason.

 

“We are now arriving at Maymourne. All citizens without a purple security pass  _ must  _ exit the train from the three northernmost carriages.”

 

The tourists flock out in droves, chattering excitedly. Carlos is sure that Maymourne, with its one cafe and single gift shop, will be of some interest to them.  _ Definitely  _ worth the trip. 

 

He’s the only person left in his carriage, bar one. The other commuter is violently redheaded, skinny, and with such a pale skin colour that Carlos is reminded of snow. Said passenger doesn’t appear to be wearing much, aside from a cape, and is holding a box on his lap. 

 

Carlos is suddenly very thankful that boxes exist.

 

The other passenger clears his throat nervously and asks, “Night Vale too, I take it? Or has the Govt opened another town past the end of the line?”

 

“Night Vale. Yes.” Carlos wishes he has something more interesting to contribute, but his throat feels like it’s dried up. This is suddenly  _ so real. _

 

“You seem nervous.” The other passenger says, breaking out into a sudden, wide grin. “First time?”

 

“...Yes.” Carlos wonders how little he can say without it sounding odd. “I’m here to study. I guess.” He doesn’t want to offend. The people of Night Vale are people, not lab rats. He’s a biologist, and he’s not going to hurt them.

 

The man’s grin disappears. “You’re not one of  _ their  _ scientists, are you? The ones with pens, are you? They took far more blood than I was comfortable with.” 

 

“Pens…??” Carlos stutters, vowing to rid himself of the stack of biros he has in his suitcase at the earliest opportunity, “I don’t-”

The young man’s grin returns full force. “Yeah, you’re a Night Vale virgin. Right. I remember. You have a lot to learn. I took one trip out of Night Vale to get a new stock of coconut M&Ms, because frankly, the octopus ink flavour was getting tiresome, and I get a train back with a newbie! Great! What's your name, newbie?"

 

“Carlos.” Carlos says, feeling very confused. Octopus ink M&Ms? No pens? He didn’t think that Night Vale residents were  _ allowed  _ to leave the town. 

 

“I’m Steve.” Steve says, abandoning the box and his seat to come and sit next to him.

 

Carlos is suddenly very thankful for shorts. They’re tight short shorts, but they’re shorts nonetheless. “I take it you’re a local?” He asks, keeping his eyes firmly above the equator. 

 

Although, if he’s honest, being flashed accidentally wouldn’t be the strangest thing that had ever happened to him on one of the trains. 

 

“Yeah… I’ve been here for a while now. They let me leave because I can’t actually hurt anyone with the enhancement I have.” Steve chirps happily, drawing his legs up onto the seat. “Plus, I wrote  _ so  _ many letters. So many. I think Big Government HQ was just getting tired of me.”

 

“What’d you write with?” Carlos asks, curious despite himself. He’ll deal with the whole ‘enhancement’ thing later.

 

“Blood, mainly.”   
  


Carlos is  _ not  _ going to judge Night Vale. He’s  _ not.  _

 

Steve chuckles. “Joke. Octopus ink, mainly. We milk Nessie for it. Consentingly, of course.” 

 

“Of course.” Carlos agrees, wondering when exactly he had fallen asleep and started dreaming this bizarre conversation. 

 

“Want me to tell you about my radiation-given enhancement?” Steve asks, and then adds, very solemnly, “Bless the atom.”

 

He’s intrigued, and knows he’s going to write a lot down when he actually gets a chance to do so. This trip is getting off to a good, albeit strange, start. “Yes, please.” 

 

Steve seems more than happy to oblige.”Watch.” He begins to twist his hands in an overly dramatic manner and Carlos follows the movement, happy with the distraction from the wasteland outside.

 

It’s hypnotic, in a way, but he doesn’t feel sleepy. He’s suddenly too warm and itchy within his skin. Is this what this is? Is Steve going to roast him alive? 

 

He looks up to the younger man’s face to beg him to stop, but something makes him pause. The other man looks appealing, attractive even, in a way that Carlos hasn’t felt for a long time. He feels a rosy tint spread across his cheeks and he inhales sharply. The carriage smells  _ good,  _ and he’s sure it didn’t before. Something’s wrong.  _ Shit.  _ He’s aching, in all the wrong places, suddenly filled with want and  _ desire. _

 

Then he blinks.

 

No odd smell in the carriage. No heat. No desire. 

 

Steve is choking back laughter. “Sorry. Should have warned you… but, your face! It looked like you were about to jump me, and honestly, I probs wouldn’t have minded.”

 

Carlos clears his throat. Then he clears his throat again, suddenly thankful for the heavy coat he’s wearing. “Uh. So. You can make people like you?”

 

“Wasn’t expecting that sort of language from a scientist.” Steve replies, still chortling.

 

Carlos feels oddly vulnerable and pulls his coat even tighter around himself. Steve is beginning to get on his nerves. He had appreciated the company at first, but now… “Emotional manipulation? Some sort of empathy? Impulse control?”

 

“Maybe I just smell really good.” Steve shrugs. “We’re here!”

 

Outside the window, Carlos can see an enclosed platform leading to a corridor, much like the ones he knows from his home dome. 

 

“There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out.” Steve claps Carlos on the shoulder, collects his box, and departs without a look back.

 

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Carlos collects his own luggage and follows him out.

 


	2. Breakfast

 

Cecil Palmer is out of bed at six that morning.

Not especially willingly, he’s woken in the middle of a circle of his bloodstones, holding an apple in one hand.

 

The apple has runes carved into it, and he has  _ no  _ idea what they mean.

 

He places the apple down on a chair to consider later, and wonders how he’d managed to traverse the five metres from his bed to his kitchen without waking. Rubbing his eyes (all three of them), he sinks to his knees and tries to remember the dream he had had the night previous. 

 

What had it been about? Living in Night Vale, he’s almost accustomed to strange visions and shared dreams with the entire adult population of the town... but this had been something else. Far from being a psychedelic trip between different planes of existence like eighty percent of the dreams he has nowadays, this dream had been simple - almost domestic.  _ Domestic.  _

 

So not him.

 

Cecil shudders, and casts the dream away for later thought. He’ll get an intern to hypnotise it out of him later. He’s got breakfast to have and a show to plan. He’s the Voice of Night Vale, after all. 

 

-

 

His phone buzzes as he’s preparing a light breakfast of raw chicken and porridge and he swipes it open to check his notifications.

 

Steve Carlsberg? Why does he still have him in his contacts anyway? After that last stunt he's never going to talk to him again... At least in person.

 

The text simply says:  _ look out ur window. _

 

Cecil, who definitely does not want to do anything Steve Carlsberg tells him to do, but who is also unable to resist the curiosity to look, walks to his window -  _ to look at the endless void above them _ because he's definitely not doing anything Steve says - and peers out, taking a short pause to hide his third eye from sight before he looks out. 

 

He doesn't want anyone to get too alarmed at this time in the morning. It’s a pretty standard enhancement, but he does know that it can be scary to some.

 

His modest, yet cute, apartment stands on one corner of a block. For years the Night Vale Community Laboratory has stood opposite it, with a perpetual FOR SALE sign blocking the door. Not anymore, however. 

 

The FOR SALE sign is gone! The curtains are pulled! It looks like people are going to move in! Cecil is very excited, because he likes new neighbours and he likes scientists - aside from their problematic pen use. He’s definitely going to mention this  _ development  _ on his show.

 

Speaking of his show…

 

Cecil’s phone buzzes again as he heads back to his table. This time it is not a text from an unlikable former colleague, but more of a phone call from an intern at the station. He always has an intern call him at some point in the morning to tell him what time his show is on. It is usually on in the evening, when it is far easier for people to listen to it, but knowing Station Management, the time for the show could change at any point, because variety is the spice of life… or something. 

 

He isn’t sure, but he prefers the afternoons. Two AM is a weird time for a radio show, even in Night Vale.

 

It’s Intern James. James has been the intern at Night Vale Community Radio for approximately two days, give or take a few hours and a couple of limbs. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“Cecil?”

 

“This is my phone, James…”

  
“Yeah.” Intern James is truly one to utilise all of the vocabulary the City Council has given him. Cecil hears him slurping his coffee.

 

“What time is the show on, James? I presume that is why you called?”

 

“Oh yeah.” There is a shuffling of papers, “Station management wants to knock off early today or whatever, so your show is on at nine this morning.”

 

9.00am? That's in fifteen minutes! Couldn't they have given him more of a warning?

 

“Thanks, James.” Cecil says, trying not to panic, “Bye.”

 

James mutters something that sounds vaguely like an answer and the call disconnects.

  
_ Fifteen minutes?  _ And the day was going so well…


	3. The Radio

 

After the militarised, precise search of Carlos’ person and belongings, he’s finally allowed into Night Vale. 

 

His stomach tingles. There is a lot to be discovered here. He can  _ feel  _ it. 

 

One of the military folks at the border had ordered him to be driven to his new residence at the Night Vale Community Laboratory. He assumes it'll be pretty sparsely furnished, but what he doesn't expect is to be greeted with the sight of an red antique radio with a blue post-it stuck to the top and a tank that continues precisely nothing inside.

 

Seriously. Nothing. 

 

It’s like a black hole, or something. Carlos is  _ fascinated,  _ but heads towards the post-it first.

 

There is thin, rather scribbly handwriting on it, getting smaller and smaller further down the note. 

 

_ Hello neighbour!  _ It reads.

 

_ It is so exciting to see someone new moving into the neighbourhood. Oh gosh, I'd better introduce myself.  _

 

_ My name's Cecil. Cecil Palmer. I live in the apartment opposite you on the fourth floor. 4B. I'm the host on Night Vale Community Radio and I thought, since listening to the community radio station has now been decreed mandatory by the Sheriff's Secret Police and you're new in town, you wouldn't know.  _

 

_ Just turn the radio on, it'll find it. _

 

_ Oh also, I guess you might want something to do for your first day in town? It’s just that I’ve had this little guy hanging around my ceiling for weeks now and I thought that you might want to have a look at him because you’re a scientist. His name is Doug. Don’t hurt him, because I will come after you if that happens. _

 

_ I’m joking. _

_ Mostly. _

 

_ Looking forward to meeting you (provided you don’t make me write with pens!) _

 

_ Cecil _

_ The Voice of Night Vale _

 

Carlos looks around the room suspiciously when he finishes reading. The door was locked, when he came in… right? Then… how?

  
He doesn’t see anyone, so he presumes it’s a Night Vale thing and leaves it at that. 

  
This Cecil character? He seems nice enough, but Carlos isn’t good with new people, and especially new people who break into his residence to leave mysterious notes.

  
He’s a scientist, so he supposes it’s a bit of a problem, but meeting new people is never his strong suit. It’s not like he doesn’t  _ like  _ people, because he does, but whenever he is put into a new social situation, he just gets bashful and his stomach gets queasy and he just wishes that he could be back inside with his experiments, leaving the whole talking thing to someone who is better at it. 

 

It is really the critical flaw that has led him astray in the past. 

 

He supposes he should check for mysterious and ominous characters in the building but his last few thoughts have made him slightly panicky. Okay. Now it is time for one of his proven coping techniques. 

 

Hypothesis: There are no people in the building aside from him as he hasn’t heard or seen anyone else. 

 

Test: he calls out, “Hello?”

 

Conclusion: There is no-one capable of speaking in the building as there is no answer.

 

Although Carlos isn’t sure if that is the entire truth - insects and such cannot speak - he feels somewhat relieved. Okay. He’s going to be fine. He can look around, sort out where everything is going to go…

 

He suddenly feels very alone without his science team. They had an  _ issue  _ with obtaining passes to Night Vale, and were supposed to be following him within a few days. He’d be alone in the town until then.

 

But first, the radio. It’s here… and if the town’s rules say he should listen to the radio, he should probably listen to the radio. It simply won’t do to be kicked out of here for one little indiscretion.

 

Fiddling with the knobs on the top of the radio, he realises that the letter is right. There’s stations, but every time he tries to change off one particular one, the dial just turns back until he’s firmly on it. Currently, it’s playing what sounds like the hiss a train makes just before it pulls out of a station, interspersed with someone softly saying ‘ah’ every few seconds. It’s not actually that distracting, so Carlos leaves it on. 

  
He’s waiting for the rest of his equipment outside the building when he hears a voice coming through the radio, "A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep. Welcome to Night Vale." 

 

He guessed this must be the absent Cecil, who  _ really  _ has a voice for radio. 

 

Carlos has always had a thing for voices but this is one of the best he's heard so far. Voices are far easier than the real thing, less personal, less intimate... just less. It's far easier to listen to someone than to be close to them. Cecil natters on about community notices and cake thieves and it calms him, slowing the fluttering in his chest.

 

Carlos can do this. Carlos  _ will  _ do this. 

 

He putters around the building, putting away his equipment which has arrived in a large moving truck, and is comforted by Cecil’s voice in the background.

 

“And anyway, listeners, before I sign off, I wanted to give you all some news.” Carlos jerks awake, where he’s been dozing on the couch. “I looked out the window of my apartment this morning, and guess what I saw? The Night Vale Community Laboratory has been sold!” 

 

Oh no.  _ Oh no.  _ He doesn’t want to become a  _ thing.  _

 

“Now, I don’t know who’s moved in, but I’m hoping that they’re nice. I left a note this morning, telling them to listen to the show - so hopefully they’re listening now! Hi neighbour! I’m Cecil. I hope you’re settling in well. We should meet sometime and -” There’s a growl and Cecil’s voice cuts off for a moment.

 

Carlos squints, even though the action has no impact on his hearing. Is that  _ chanting?  _ Coming from the radio? He turns it up but the chanting becomes no less indistinct. 

 

“ANYWAY.” Cecil comes back, too loud over the speaker, “Station Management is getting restless, so I’m going to go now. It’s been a good one, Night Vale. Stay safe. Goodnight, Night Vale, goodnight.”

 

His voice fades into an annoying buzzing, and Carlos switches the radio off. His new neighbour sounds nice, but he’s also just told him about his arrival in the town.

 

Now, Carlos is going to be the Science Guy, and everyone will know him as the Science Guy, and he didn’t want to get that reputation right away. 

 

Darn. He’s going to have to have Words with the man from across the road. 


	4. Apple Pie

Cecil’s in the middle of putting an apple pie in the oven (the runestone apples have to be used for  _ something _ ) when there’s a knock on his door. It’s hesitant, and he probably wouldn’t have heard it except the radio’s only playing the faint sound of water dripping and therefore isn’t too much of a hinderance.

 

His guest probably would have rung the bell, except there’s a large sign over said bell that reads ‘if you ring this, you’ll be taken away for experimentation’. Cecil had lost many good friends that way.

 

He wipes his hands on a teatowel and goes to open the door. His last broadcast had gone well - aside from that slight  _ altercation  _ from Station Management - so maybe it’s a fan?

 

He’s not ever had any fans come to his door before (or any fans, period) but now’s as good a time to start as any.

 

Cecil suspects the person who’s waiting on his doorstep isn’t a fan. It might be because of the amazingly beautiful deserves-to-be-worshipped hair he has, but it’s probably because of the rather pissed-off expression on his face.

 

“Gah.” Cecil says, rather taken aback. This stranger is  _ beautiful,  _ unbelievably so, and Cecil’s pretty sure (like 90%) that he’s not just thinking that because he’s under the influence of an aphrodisiac again.

 

(That had been last Tuesday.)

 

(Unless the City Council’s developed an aphrodisiac that’s in runeapples, he’s pretty sure he’s not high. Like 89%.)

 

“Hi.” The gorgeous stranger says, “You’re the radio guy. Right?”

 

“Gah.” Cecil groans, and then realises what he’s doing. He needs to act cool. He needs to be cool. “Right. Yes. Yes I am. You heard my show?”

 

He doesn’t mean for his voice to pitch up an octave at the end of his sentences, he really doesn’t. He’s just under a lot of… stress… right now.

 

“I… did.” The beautiful stranger replies, “Can I come in?”

 

He’s never heard such a lovely series of words before. “Yes. 100%. Please, please do.”

 

(He might need to lay off the complimenting.)

 

Cecil ushers him inside and gets him settled at the kitchen table. He sits opposite him and waits, nearly jiggling in his seat. “So?”

 

“So?”

 

“The show? I mean, I presume you’re the scientist who moved in across the road and I swear I didn’t mean to be weird and all but I thought I’d welcome you to the neighbourhood because this place can be really abrupt and all to new peo-”

 

“Cecil.” And the stranger says his  _ name.  _ Cecil vibrates even more. “Shh.”

 

Cecil shuts up.

 

The stranger looks vaguely amused by his behaviour. “I’m Carlos. I just moved in across the road. Your show was really soothing to listen to. Hi.” He holds out a hand.

 

Cecil preens.


	5. want to get lunch?

Carlos doesn’t quite know what to think of Cecil. He’s tall and lanky, so pale he’s almost albino, and has a shock of bright purple hair, as well as tattoos of the same colour that run all down his arms. He’s not  _ unattractive,  _ he’s just  _ odd-looking.  _

 

If he’s honest, Carlos expected worse from a city that takes nuclear rejects. With a little tweaking, Cecil could easily pass for someone brought up in a dome.

 

The thought is grim.

 

Cecil takes his hand. He’s visibly vibrating. Is this some sort of Night Vale thing? Do they all vibrate like a pre-War phone?

 

Steve certainly didn’t, but then, Steve…

 

He’s not going to think about Steve. That invasion of his privacy was uncomfortable enough at the time and somehow worse in hindsight.

 

“Maybe we should sit down…” Carlos suggests. He really needs to explain to Cecil why talking about his presence in the town is a Very Bad Idea, and he’s not going to be able to do it with Cecil jumping about like a nervous puppy. 

 

“That’s a good idea.” Cecil withdraws his hand, apparently finally realising that the physical contact has gone on for slightly too long. He leads Carlos over to his dining room table, which has a bowl of apples on it that are covered in …runes?

 

“Don’t mind the runeapples.” Cecil says, but yelps as Carlos reaches for one, “I wouldn’t eat them, though. Just to be safe!” 

 

Carlos wasn’t planning to. He just wants to take a look. To study. “Do these… come like this?”

 

“Nah.” Cecil shrugs. “Woke up this morning, they were all like this. I think I did it - but I have no idea why.”

 

Now that is curious. Carlos’ scientific mind is piqued. “Do things like this happen often?”

 

“‘Things like this’?” Cecil echoes. “Things like what, exactly? The runeapples are new, but weird stuff happens all the time. I’m used to it. Last week I got dosed with an aphrodisiac and had twenty-two hours of fun times I’d rather forget, two months ago I grew tentacles, a year ago my bosses were replaced with alternate ginger versions of themselves for several days… The list goes on.”

 

“That’s-”  _ Barbaric. Uncomfortable. Inhumane.  _ His brain supplies him with a list of words, but somehow he thinks it wouldn’t be a good idea to say any of them. “-unique.” 

 

“Well, you know the government!” Cecil says, with faux-cheeriness. His voice sounds happy, but his eyes don’t. His gaze darts around the room, as though looking for invisible spies hiding in the corners.

 

For all Carlos knows, there  _ could  _ be invisible spies hiding in the corners.

 

“They own us all, and we’re  **happy** to live such profitable lives in Night Vale.” Cecil hasn’t dropped the faux-cheeriness tone.

 

“Shouldn’t the government -” Carlos begins, but he’s stopped by the desperate look in Cecil’s eyes.

 

He doesn’t want him to talk about this. Carlos knows the government is corrupt,  _ knows  _ that throwing a load of mutated humans into one tiny town in the desert is unethical - and he doesn’t want to make it worse for those living there.

 

“No matter.” Carlos says instead. “I mainly just came over to ask you if you could keep my existence here under wraps.”

 

“Why?” Cecil asks. He looks less panicked now, more confused. 

“I’m studying your town, but I don’t want to stick out. I want to live here, become part of the routine - things like that. I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb.”

 

Cecil nods. “Makes sense. Sorry I went off about you on the radio earlier. I didn’t think.” 

 

“It’s fine.” Carlos lowers his gaze. “In truth, it was nice to get a welcome to the city. My colleagues aren’t coming for a few days and it was a bit lonely there on my own.”

 

“Well…” Cecil drawls. “Lonely is something I can deal with. Want to get lunch somewhere? The city council mandates that we eat from one of the restaurants in town at least once a week, and I’ve not done my ‘lawful duty’ - so to speak - yet.” 

 

They make them eat at certain restaurants at least once a week? Carlos has heard of worse punishments, but it feels like the city council is trying to control what everyone eats, and that’s  _ never  _ good. This requires more research. However, he wallpapers over his worried feelings and says, “Sure. Where did you have in mind?”

 

The grin Cecil gives him makes up for his anxiety over the whole situation.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is uncomfortable, but he can't telegraph it. Cecil tries to explain things.

Cecil takes Carlos by the arm and heads off down the street. As they walk, he can see several vans with blacked out windows following them - it’s the Sheriff's Secret Police, or the government or something. As this happens every time he leaves the house, he doesn’t pay them much mind.

 

Carlos does, however, and keeps looking behind him to watch the vans. 

 

“I really wouldn’t do that if I was you.” Cecil remarks, fighting to keep his voice even.

 

“Why?”

 

“When they inevitably take you in for questioning, they won’t torture you if you’ve seen nothing.”

 

Carlos looks over at him, fear apparent in his eyes, but he doesn’t look back anymore.

 

“Big Rico’s stopped selling pizza. Sort of.” Cecil explains, pushing open the heavy glass door of the establishment. “The City Council banned wheat and wheat by-products about a year ago? So now what they sell is entirely wheat-free. And most of the pizza is less pizza and just tomato sauce and cheese in a bowl, but I’m fine with that. Are you?”

 

The way Carlos nods suggests that he is  _ completely  _ fine with that - or at least pretending to for the sake of the vans following them.

 

They sit down with two margarita bowls. Big Rico himself comes over with a  _ real  _ candle and lights it before placing it down on the table. “Have a good date, boys.” He says, with teasing smiles.

 

(He has two mouths, it’s not difficult.)

 

“Uh- we aren’t- it’s not… like that.” Carlos stammers. “We’re neighbours.”

 

Cecil quickly forces away the faint twinge of sadness at his admission, smiles brightly and says, “Yeah, we’re neighbours!”

 

“Oh.” Big Rico says, and then brightens. “You’re the guy that Cecil mentioned on the radio this morning!” 

 

A irritated look passes over Carlos’ face for a moment, which leaves Cecil feeling terrible all over again. The man’s here to do  _ science,  _ and he’s made him a walking target. Oops. Hindsight is an important thing. 

 

Carlos forces a smile. “The one and only. I take it you’re Big Rico?”   
  


“Yes.” Big Rico schmoozes, taking Carlos’ hand and shaking it thoroughly. “It’s so good to see someone from the outside!”

 

“I am to please.” Carlos replies, sunnily, but it’s obvious his heart isn’t in it.

 

They eat their meals in silence and it is the most uncomfortable thing that Cecil has felt since he was mind-probed last week.


	7. the hideout

After their meal, Cecil leads Carlos towards the back door of the pizzeria, and opens it. “Come on, Carlos!” He says, far too exuberantly. “Let’s go  _ off  _ somewhere! Have I ever told you how dexterous Night Vale residents are with their tongues? I bet you'd like to find out!”

 

Carlos eyes him with some confusion, trying very hard to keep in a blush. It’s obvious that Cecil wants him to play along, but he doesn’t know what the point of it is. It's obviously not a real come-on, and Cecil isn't actually hitting on him. Guess he's got to go with it then. He stretches his face into an over-enthused smile, and says, “Sounds like a good idea, Cecil!”

 

“Good.” Cecil grins, beautifically, eyes wide in the light from the Arby’s. “Let’s run.” 

 

He sprints off down the pavement, and Carlos has no choice but to follow. 

Their feet pound rhythmically on the sidewalk for a few minutes until Cecil ducks into a back alley, pulls aside a large trash can and opens a hatch beneath it. “Down.” He hisses, and Carlos has no choice but to obey.

Descending into the darkness feels like a mistake.

Especially when Cecil slams the hatch shut and leaves him in the dark.

The echo ricochets around the small space, disorienting him. He stumbles for a wall, manages to lean against it, but he’s still dazzled when the lights suddenly flick on. 

 

“Oh.” Cecil breathes, smoothing his hair back against his scalp. “Feels good to be out of their view.”

 

As Carlos watches, still vaguely stunned, the other man unknots his tie, undoes some of his shirt buttons to bare most of his chest to the world, and kicks off his shoes. He then sinks into an armchair at the base of the ladder with a sigh and stretches his feet out as far as they go. Several somethings crack. 

Carlos stares on, with some confusion. It’s like Cecil’s pulled a veil from his eyes. There’s nothing in this relaxed, languid man that he saw in the over-exuberant, flighty Cecil from before.

 

Cecil rolls his eyes. “Come on. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

 

“I don’t know if I should.”

 

“Please.” Cecil waves at the armchair sitting opposite him. He rotates his head around for a moment or two, moaning quietly as the tension is released.

 

Carlos’ cheeks heat at the sound, but he takes a seat anyway. “What’s going on, Cecil?”

 

“This is my hideout.” Cecil gestures around him, at the corrugated walls, the messy desk and the pre-war computer. “It’s where I go when things get too hard, you know? Having to pretend that everything’s fine? The Government can’t see in, so I get a chance to relax and do  _ other things.”  _

 

“They can’t see in?” Carlos resolutely ignores the second part of Cecil’s sentence. Now is not the time. “No surveillance? At all.”

 

“Nope.” He replies, cheerily. “Believe me, we’ve tested. Completely bug-free. The Government are bigots and truly terrible, but they’re not magic.”

 

“Who’s we?” Carlos asks, curious despite himself. The fact that there’s rebellion - there’s actually people who  _ defy  _ the Government and live to tell the tale in Night Vale - is unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

 

He  _ knew  _ there was something more here. He knows he can do something to help them.

 

“I suppose it’s time for me to come in?” A voice issues from seemingly nowhere.

It takes Carlos a few moments to place the emitter of the sound - there’s several small speakers planted around the outer wall of the bunker. “Who is it?”

“The Faceless Old Woman.” Cecil replies, silkily.

“‘Faceless’ and ‘Old’ both stretch the truth, but they’re not that far off. I do have a name, you know.” The Faceless Old Woman, who lives in the speaker, says.

“Yes, but  _ codenames?”  _ Cecil huffs. “We’re trying to be incognito, remember?”

“Believe me, it hasn’t strayed from my mind.” The Faceless Old Woman drawls. “You could have chosen a better codename system, Cecil, honestly. Just because you haven’t seen my face doesn’t mean that you…”

 

Cecil speaks quietly over the Faceless Old Woman, whose speech has dissolved into a rant about ‘post-war youths and their reliance on technology’. “She’s very… touchy… about this sort of thing. It’s not just me, though, there’s lots of us. Probably about ten? I’ve never counted. We’re trying to get out of here.”

 

“But why do you need me?” Carlos asks, feeling horribly overwhelmed. Complicated science he can handle, but massive infodumps and complicated rebellion plans are a little much for him. Has Cecil been planning this meeting ever since he met him?

It feels like a setup. 

 

Cecil leans forwards, plants his hands on his thighs and grins. It’s not a maniacal grin, not the overtly-happy grin of before, but softer, lighter. “I want you to lead our rebellion.”

  
  
_Oh._   
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is leading a rebellion. Cecil is huggable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags have been edited to reflect the change in where this story is going

 

“Sorry?” At first, Carlos isn’t sure that he’s heard the other man correctly. “You want me to do _what?”_

 

“You’re new around here. We need someone from the outside to help us. Thus, this!” Cecil has perked up incredibly. He smiles winningly at Carlos.

“I’m a scientist. I can’t lead a rebellion.” Cecil has known him for all of a few hours and he’s asking him to do _this?_ The thought makes him sick to his stomach. He can’t lead a rebellion.

“Cecil, you’re scaring the poor man.” The Faceless Old Woman says, the end of her sentence dropping out in a fizz of static. “Tell him what you actually want him to do.”

“Yes, well, not lead, exactly, but just _help._ We’ve been waiting for someone like you to come for years.” Cecil sits forward in his chair, claps his hands together and eyes Carlos excitedly.

 

“Someone like me?” Carlos feels a little bit faint.

 

“Someone from the _Outside._ Someone who knows how to bring the City Council and the Sheriff’s Secret Police and the Government down.”

“I don’t even know what half of those things are!” Carlos yelps, and puts his head in his hands. Everything suddenly feels very overwhelming.

 

“You mightn’t now, but you will.”

The words are very ominous, especially since he’s only just met Cecil.

What on earth has he gotten himself in to?

 

Cecil pulls him out of the shelter ten minutes later. He’s back to his old self (his _facade,_ Carlos supposes), tightly-wound, fidgety, the works.

 

Something must go on in this town. Carlos knows it’s less-than-salubrious, knows that it’s a bit weird, but the Government must really do things to the town’s residents to make them so scared.

Carlos supposes he’ll find out what, in time.

  


Cecil walks him back home. It’s dark, the sky curiously starless, and cool. Carlos’ apartment stands alone, no lights on inside, and quiet. It looks lonely.

 

“Well, thank you, neighbour!” Cecil says, off-beat and a little too loudly, “I have had a good time with you today. I hope we can repeat it.”

He’s stilted and visibly uncomfortable, staring off into the middle distance like he can see something in it.

 

For all Carlos knows, there _could_ be something in it. “Of course. I enjoyed it too.”

 

Suddenly struck with a flash of inspiration - something, he can do _something_ to make the other man feel at ease. He holds out his arms, and asks, because he’s still not sure that Cecil doesn’t leech poison from his pores or anything and it’s also good practise, “can I touch you? Without dying or anything?”

“Sure thing, I love-”

“Great.” Carlos interrupts whatever diatribe Cecil’s about to go on by enveloping him in a hug.

 

Immediately, Cecil goes limp. Not boneless, exactly, just relaxed and pliable like he’s not got a care in the world. “Wow.” He says, almost dreamily, and settles his arms around Carlos’ back. “You’re good at hugs. Did you study to become a hug scientist?”

“I studied to become a scientist in a lot of things.” The hug’s pretty good from his side too.

“Mmmm.” One of Cecil’s hands comes up to his nape, and starts to play with the short, wiry hairs along the base of his neck. Normally, he’s not such a fan of people touching his hair, but this feels nice.

Oddly nice.

_Too_ nice.

 

“If you have the same skill that Steve Carlsberg has and you’re using it on me, I’ll be very disappointed.” Carlos murmurs, not really wanting to ruin the mood.

It does anyway.   


“Steve!?” Cecil jumps away from him and scowls furiously. It’s a bad look on him. “What did Steve do to you?”

 

The loss of contact doesn’t go unnoticed and Carlos mourns almost immediately. “I asked him to demonstrate his… uh… skill? He did. With much aplomb.”

 

“He didn’t touch you or anything?”

 

“...He… uh, did his thing… to me, but I didn’t touch him.” The memory makes his cheeks heat furiously.

 

“Ugh.” Cecil slumps back against the wall of Carlos’ apartment. “Some people need to learn the meaning of consent.”

It’s obvious he’s not just talking about Carlsberg.

 

“Yes.” Carlos nods at him, suddenly feeling very tired. It’s been a long, weird day. “I’m going to go now. I need to sleep.”

 

“Of course!” Cecil stands up straighter, veneer suddenly reappearing. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, neighbour. Good night.”

And with that, he disappears into the dark, presumably heading home.

But then again, it is Night Vale, so who knows?

 

Carlos goes to bed as well.

Hopefully this is the weirdest Night Vale is going to get.

 

* * *

 

The letter arrives on his doorstep the next morning.

 

Carlos, still bleary-eyed and halfway through a glass of juice (that he _thinks_ is pineapple, though it’s a vibrant pink) bends down to pick it up.

 

_Congratulations, citizen!_

_Your ongoing relationship with Cecil Gershwin Palmer has been noticed and appreciated. We require your presence at the Night Vale Courthouse in exactly one week’s time to commence your nuptial proceedings._

_Congratulations on your upcoming wedding!_

_Night Vale City Council._

  


Carlos, entirely not in the mood to deal with this shit, throws the letter in the trash, puts his glass of juice down, and goes back to bed.

 

(The letters keep on coming.)

 


	9. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a wedding.
> 
> It's a (grim) wedding.

 

Approximately one week to the day, he arrives at the Night Vale Courthouse.

 

Cecil doesn’t want to do this. 

 

He’s not even had a chance to  _ talk  _ to Carlos about the whole thing. Every time he’d tried to make it over to the other man’s building, it had been shut up tight and the curtains had been closed.

 

Admittedly, he hadn’t been able to try very hard, but that was because Station Management had been on his back for most of the week - he’d been broadcasting almost non-stop for five out of the last seven days. 

 

Cecil still doesn’t want to do this. However, in a town such as Night Vale, any sort of discouragement is regarded as dissent.

 

He doesn’t want to be seen as dissenting.

 

Not again.

 

So he’s here, dressed in a lurid purple floral suit, and he’s waiting for Carlos. In all honesty, he feels sorry for the man. In Night Vale for only a week, and forced into a marriage? Cecil hardly knows what the City Council is thinking. 

 

But they can’t complain. They have to push through. 

 

That’s Night Vale.

 

For all that Cecil wants Carlos to run, he also hopes that turns up.

 

Trying to fight back - at least in this way - isn’t worth it. 

 

The Courthouse clock strikes 8.59am, and Carlos isn’t here to see it.

 

_ Damn. _

 

If they have to wait any longer…

 

The officiant behind the desk - a blankfaced person named Leslie - tsks. “Your partner is aware of the lateness penalty, yes?”

 

“Yes.” Cecil bangs his knee on the underside of the desk because he’s trembling so much.

 

He doesn’t know if Carlos is aware of the lateness penalty. He should have told him.  _ He should have told him. _

 

“Well, it will come into effect if your partner doesn’t arrive within the next thirty seconds, Mr Palmer. These weddings are compulsory, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

 

“Yes. I am.”

 

He is.

 

He can’t help but watch the clock as the seconds tick by.  _ Dammit, Carlos, come on! _

 

It’s two seconds to the hour when there’s a mad scrambling at the door and Carlos throws it open. He’s suited, yes, but his thick, luscious,  _ gorgeous  _ hair is all over the place. “Honey.” He says, breathlessly, “Am I late?”

 

“Only very nearly.” Cecil breathes out sharply, shuddering in relief. Thank the gods. He could prostrate himself at Carlos’ feet right now, just for saving him from the lateness penalty. “It’s good to see you.”

 

“And you.” Carlos sits, stiffly, and eyes the blankfaced person. To his credit, he doesn’t even gasp. “Can we get proceedings underway? I have to get back to work.”

 

“Of course.” The blankfaced person pushes two identical documents towards them, as well as two crayons. The pen ban is  _ still  _ in effect, despite everything. “We’ve taken the liberty of filling these out for you, but your signatures are still required. I would very much recommend that you do sign them.” 

 

“Of course.” Cecil croaks, resolutely making sure he  _ doesn’t  _ think about what could happen if he doesn’t. “We’re happy to be here, right, dear?”

 

“Yes. Very happy.” Carlos, to his credit, lies through his teeth. “What exactly am I signing for here?”

 

“It’s a marriage document.” The blankfaced person smiles eerily. It’s eerie, because the smile is apparent despite the fact they don’t actually have a mouth. “Don’t bother reading it.”

 

Cecil signs, knowing that whatever he’s signing is probably going to be terrible in the long run. However, it’s not like they actually have an option.    
  


Carlos still looks hesitant, and looks like he actually wants to flick through the document. Both are very bad things. 

 

“Honey…” Cecil cajoles, disgusted at the light whine in his voice, “Don’t you want to sign the document?” 

 

Carlos must read the fear in his face, because he looks at him, sighs, and signs the document. “Wonderful. Are we married now?”

 

“Of course not!” Leslie choruses, in the voice of a thousand violent City Council members. “You require your rings.” 

 

They slide a box across the table and open it. Lying on a bed of shimmering velvet are two rings. They’re silver, with a thick green metal ridge running along one side. 

 

“Take one each.” Leslie gestures, and then sits back in their seat, consideringly.

 

Despite their lack of eyes, it’s obvious that they’re judging them.

 

Cecil takes a ring, not especially happy about it. He places it on his ring finger, and grits his teeth as the spikes on the underside edge bite into his skin. Yeah, this is bad. Very bad.

 

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

 

Bless his heart, he actually looks concerned. “Fine. Fine.  _ Fine. _ Put the ring on.” 

 

If he doesn’t get out of here soon he’s going to freak out and he’s not super keen on doing that in front of a City Council representative.

 

Carlos puts the ring on. 

 

Oh.

 

_ Oh.  _ Oh, this is weird. 

 

The throb in his finger is weird. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that it makes him want to touch Carlos, to look him in the eyes and to draw their bodies together. He doesn’t like it at all. 

 

“A satisfactory bond.” Leslie nods, seemingly pleased. “And finally, the kiss.” 

 

“What?” Carlos gasps, somehow managing to look Leslie in the face. Cecil doesn’t think he could look away from the other man even if his life depended on it. “Why?”

 

“It’s part of the procedure.” Leslie glances towards the clock and tsks. “This is slow. You are aware of the penalties, this relationship must begin with a physical action.”

 

“But I don’t-” Carlos panics, turning back to him, “Why-”

 

“Please.” Cecil begs, and  _ fuck _ , he’s actually begging. This would be horribly embarrassing if his life literally wasn’t in danger. “Just go with it. Please. Carlos. I’ll explain everything later. Just let me-”

But then Carlos kisses him.

 

And  _ fuck,  _ doesn’t that hurt? 

 

He tastes like electricity, fuzzy little sparks humming down his spine. He kisses like he wants to tear Cecil apart from inside and get inside his skin, warming him from the inside out. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling.

 

It’s not necessarily a good feeling, either.

 

“Satisfactory.” Leslie says, from somewhere very far away. “An ideal match.” 

 

Carlos pulls back, worry obvious in his eyes. He looks  _ regretful?  _ Why does he look regretful? “You’re bleeding.” He hisses, with a worried look towards Leslie. “I’m… I’m sorry.” 

 

Oh. He is. He wipes at his lip, and everything comes back bloody. Ow. He’s had worse. “It’s fine.”

  
Some of the drive to be  _ with  _ Carlos seems to have dissipated in their embrace, so he manages to turn towards Leslie and ask, “Are we done now?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Good.” Cecil takes Carlos by the hand and drags him out of his chair. “Thank you, Leslie. My partner and I will be going now.” 

 

Face smarting in embarrassment, lip still stinging, he frogmarches Carlos out of the room and out of the Courthouse. Carlos doesn’t struggle, seemingly rather confused, and lets Cecil drag him into a nearby park.

 

“What on  _ earth  _ is going on?” Carlos gasps, when they stop. He takes a cloth from the pocket of his jacket and starts dabbing at Cecil’s bloodied lip. “You looked like you were about to explode in there.”

 

“If you’d been two seconds later in your arrival I would have been given a penalty!” Cecil hisses, under his breath, trying very very hard not to lose his shit. “And I know you’re new and I know you don’t understand those yet, but they’re terrible. Awful. You don’t want to disobey the City Council.”

 

He sits down heavily in the grass and puts his head between his knees. The world’s swimming around him and it’s not just because of the rings. Oh yeah, this doesn’t look good at all. Damn. When did breathing get so hard? 

 

Carlos sits down opposite him and grasps him by the hands. “You’re having a panic attack, Cecil. Have you had one before?”

 

“Y-yeah, I just t-try to keep them in the privacy... of my own home.” He grits his teeth and glances up at the trees around them. He’s not just seeing things. There’s definitely City Council agents watching them. Damn.

 

“Take a deep breath. With me. Come on.” Carlos breathes in deeply, looking worried. It’s not a good look on him. 

 

He tries to take in a breath, but it stutters in his chest. “Can’t-”

 

“Yes, you can.” Carlos squeezes his hands and he’s suddenly reminded of why he was so taken by the man in the first place. “Breathe.”

 

And together, they push through it.

 

Later, when he’s sure that the City Council agents are still watching, Carlos cups the back of his neck and leans his forehead against Cecil’s. “Why are you so scared?” He whispers. “It’s just marriage.”

 

There’s nothing ‘just’ about it. 

 

And there never will be. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These things... happen.

The City Council moves Cecil into his building that very afternoon.

 

And really, Carlos wouldn’t be so mad about it, because the man is very pretty and generally fairly well-spoken and verbose - 

But he won’t. Stop. Touching things.

 

He’s a 6’1 walking hazard in a bright purple suit, and Carlos might end up with a hernia before this is all over.

 

It is very hard to do science when the science won’t stop asking questions. 

 

“And what’s this?” Cecil asks, putting one of his fingers far too close to a titration tube dripping hydrochloric acid onto a sample.

 

“Something that will absolutely hurt you.” Carlos steers him away to a corner of the lab that doesn’t have anything immediately breakable in it. The only thing in that corner is Doug (sitting quietly in its tank), and Carlos is fairly sure that Cecil won’t do anything to harm Doug.

 

The wedding ring on his finger throbs heat right through his body when he makes contact with Cecil, but he ignores it.

Popping a boner at work is very bad scientific protocol, and he’s not going to do that again.

 

The thing is, it’s very hard to do science with a distraction like this. 

 

He can’t seem to get anything done. He’s sure it’s Cecil’s fault - sure it’s the City Council’s fault - because he wasn’t like this in his old lab. He could partition the distractions away and work for hours on end. 

 

But this? 

This?

 

It’s like an itching under his skin. It’s the sort of frantic energy that he gets when he’s very anxious, but it’s not anxiety he’s feeling. It’s pent-up frustration, want for something he can’t have, and he  _ hates  _ it.

Night Vale can, politely, go fuck itself.

  
  


Giving up happens at approximately 2.30.

(Though time doesn’t exactly  _ work  _ in Night Vale, so really, it could be any time.)

 

He slumps over his workbench, too pent-up to write any more - most of it just looks like inane scribbles anyway - and rubs at his neck.

He’s getting a headache right at the base of his skull, and he’s  _ sure  _ that Night Vale has some kind of miracle cure for that sort of thing, but he’s absolutely not going to ask for it.

 

It is all very hopeless.

 

“What’s wrong?” Cecil asks, and bounds over. “Can I help?”

 

Absolutely not. This is all a very bad idea.

“I am distracted. Very distracted. Nothing seems to be working and -”

 

Sweet  _ fuck _ , Cecil has magic hands. Maybe it’s a side effect of the radiation, or maybe Carlos is just projecting, but he’s immediately giddy from the feel of Cecil’s hands against his neck.

 

“Is this okay?” Cecil asks, and pushes the pads of his fingers right into the base of Carlos’ skull. There’s a gravity in it that makes it seems like he’s asking honestly, not just for show. 

 

It is so okay. It is better than okay. It’s like he’s been wanting and waiting forever for something like this, and finally, his thirst has been quenched. “It couldn’t be any more okay.” 

 

“Mmmm, good.” Cecil chuckles, and just keeps  _ going.  _

  
  


And this is inappropriate, and this is so,  _ so  _ inappropriate, but he wants to take it further. He’s barely known Cecil a week and he wants so much that he can’t have. Cecil is a survivor, he’s possibly mutated, they’re probably being compelled into this - the whole thing is so dubious ethically, and yet, he can’t stop. 

 

“What are you thinking?” Cecil asks, softly, and it’s like he  _ knows. _

 

Knowing this fucking town, he definitely could. 

 

“I want you.” He blurts, before he can stop himself. “And I shouldn’t. Really. This is so, so inappropriate. I shouldn’t be - I shouldn’t be using you like this? I’m in a position of power. It’s morally wrong.” 

 

Cecil kneels in front of him and cups his chin in both hands. “You know what’s morally wrong?” He says, and there’s a ferocity in it that sends electricity shuddering down his skin. “This town. This whole place. Our marriage contract. The City Council. This whole place is  _ wrong. _ ”

 

“I’m an independent observer. I should be in control of my actions.” 

 

“Wanting to get off is far from being morally wrong. Sex is one of the only pleasures we’re permitted to have here.”

 

“But the rings -” 

 

“Amplify and aggravate existing feelings.” Cecil strokes over his cheekbone, and the touch goes straight to his groin. “I’m not a paragon of virtue, either, Carlos. Gotta say, I’ve been thinking about this since I first met you.”

 

“...You have?”

 

“Brains and beauty. And your fucking  _ hair. _ ” Cecil shrugs, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “I’m only human. Well, mostly.” 

 

Carlos laughs. He can’t help it. It’s the intimacy. It’s the situation. It’s the weirdness. He doesn’t know. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell my supervisor.”

 

"I won't." And Cecil positively  _ beams  _ as he pulls him in for a kiss. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Carlos looks content when he sleeps. His worry lines smooth out, and he almost seems relaxed.

 

It’s a good look.

 

It’s a look that Cecil wants to wake up to every day for the rest of his life. Despite the throbbing pain in his back, and general dehydration, it’s a look that he loves.

 

And he knows that they’ve only known each other for a very, very short period of time, but it’s the end of the world. There’s no time for missed opportunities. 

 

He thumbs through the silky strands of Carlos’ hair, admiring the flow and texture. Great horned god above, it’s beautiful. All of Carlos is beautiful, but his hair is especially a highlight.

 

“Cecil?” Carlos’ brown eyes open and he blinks sleepily at him. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” For once, nothing is wrong. Here, in this bed with Carlos, he can lie still and pretend that they’re not on the verge of a civil war, that their lives aren’t on the line, that everything is safe and nothing bad is going to happen.

 

“Oh.” Carlos squints behind his head. “Did you know you’ve grown tentacles?”

 

_ Oh.  _ Well, that explains the pain in his back. It takes him a moment or two to remember how to control them - growing a new limb overnight isn’t a picnic - but when he does, he makes one slither across his hip to lie across Carlos’ right wrist. “That’s not a new thing.”

 

“Fascinating.” Carlos pats at it, sending a shiver of warmth down Cecil’s spine. “How often would you say it happens?”

 

“E-every month or… so! They’re not that b-bad, really.” He’s finding it a little hard to concentrate, if he’s honest.

 

“Mmmm…” Carlos replies, with a hint of cheekiness. “Tell me, scientifically speaking, of course, what does it feel like when I do this?”

 

And despite the fact that they’ve been carrying on this arrangement for quite some time, Carlos has never done  _ that  _ before.

 

And it’s good. 

 

It’s very, very good.

  
  


Later, when certain urges have been satiated, he wanders out to his kitchen -

 

\- to find a note that’s absolutely  _ not  _ written in squid ink and definitely written in blood lying on his kitchen table.

 

_ The Scientist is a distraction.  _ The note proclaims,  _ Begin the rebellion soon, or he will die. _

 

Fantastic.

 

More admin for him to deal with.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on the [tumbs](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)


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